


Hawkins at Night

by StarMaamMke



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Just smut, Pwps, Tumblr Prompts, joyce and jim just boning a bunch, smut prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-10-09 11:15:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10410924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarMaamMke/pseuds/StarMaamMke
Summary: Based on a prompt list on my tumblr (@StarMaamMke). Nothing to see here, just a whole mess of Jopper smut.





	1. Plans

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like to leave a request in the comments, here is the list:
> 
> Against a wall  
> On a rug  
> On the floor  
> In a chair  
> In a car  
> In the pool or a hot tub  
> In the sea or at the beach  
> In the kitchen (so many places in the kitchen…)  
> In a closet  
> Backstage   
> In the park  
> In the pantry or kitchen of a restaurant  
> In the coat room of a theatre  
> In the cinema  
> In a changing room  
> In a pillow fort  
> In a bush or tree  
> In a meadow of flowers  
> On a train or plane  
> Beneath the stars  
> Beside a fire  
> In a cave  
> In a bouncy castle  
> In a hot air balloon   
> In a row boat  
> In a botanic garden  
> In a museum after it closes  
> On a space station   
> In the ruins of a city  
> In a castle

For @jennydehavilland on tumblr. Prompt was In a shower/bathtub

* * *

 

“Your shower is tiny, and you have bad knees. No. Way.” Joyce shook her head stubbornly as Jim Hopper kissed a distracting path up the side of her neck. They were sitting in his bed, Joyce’s back propped up by pillows as she tried to get in a little reading before bed. Jim had taken note of a passage in her book when he looked up from his magazine, and he took it upon himself to discuss the logistics of the racy content.

A large hand came to rest on her elbow, travelling downward until it plucked the battered paperback novel from her hands. He read: “Elenore moved to the edge of the large tub, snaked one sud-slick arm out towards Julian, crooked her delicate forefinger and cooed ‘Join me, my love. You are so very dirty and I need to clean you’.”

Joyce frantically snatched the novel from his hands, her face crimson with embarrassment as he guffawed his way through several more increasingly filthy lines. “Baby, what are you reading? For shame.” He kissed her burning cheeks after she landed a stinging slap to his bare chest.

“Book-shaming me isn’t going to change my mind,” Joyce grumbled, placing her book on the nightstand and turning over onto her side, her back to Jim. He chuckled and spooned her, one calloused hand caressing her breast through the satiny fabric of her nightshirt. She moaned softly and wriggled her buttocks ever so slightly as it rested flush against his groin.

“How about this?” he growled, rolling one pert nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Joyce shrugged his arm away. “Nice try. Again, your shower is tiny, and there’s no way you use the tub to bathe. There’s no room for you, you lumberjack.”

She heard a shuffling behind her, like he was pulling something from his nightstand drawer. She thought it might be a condom, which made her roll her eyes. “Oh, so you’re going to whip out your dick now? Does it have a law degree, because I’m going to need a pretty convincing argument.”

At first she thought he had dropped a map in front of her, but upon closer inspection, she could see that it was a brochure. For a hotel. For The Plaza in New York. “What?”

He pulled her close and urged her onto her back so she could raise her perplexed gaze to his smug face. His clear blue eyes were sparkling. “You wanted me to book the room for Jonathan’s graduation from NYU, so I did.”

“I meant something comfortable, roach-free but affordable!”

He kissed her softly. “It is affordable. I’ve been saving for this trip since his sophomore year when I figured we were in it to win it. Giving up smoking frees up an awful lot of cash.”

“Jim…”

His lips drifted to her ear, one hand drifted over her breasts, down her stomach, to rest low where the hem of her shirt met the waistband of her shorts. “It’s a Jacuzzi suite.” 

Brown eyes met blue and Joyce gave him a wicked grin. “Oh, Julian,” she cooed dramatically.

“I don’t think Victorian England had jet tubs, but if that’s your kink…”


	2. Come to the Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Ferris Wheel

For @ObeyDontStray on tumblr

On a Ferris Wheel

* * *

 

“It looks so different at night,” Joyce remarked breathlessly as she and Jim strolled along the empty fairgrounds. The July night air was sticky, and shadows fell across the site that had been bustling and bright two hours prior. 

Jim shined his flashlight inside of the beer tent, squinting as he surveyed the usual nooks and crannies. Nothing. “Yeah. I’m surprised we haven’t caught any dumb teens out here. I usually catch them smoking up or necking in the haunted house.”

“ _Necking_? What are you, Andy Griffith?” Joyce covered her mouth to giggle, her shoulders shaking with mirth. 

“Shhhh! You’ll scare them away, and busting ‘em is the best part of my job. That Harrington kid has gotten clever about his parties so I never get to break them up anymore. I’m bored. Next time, stay at home.”

Joyce scoffed, and pinched his soft side, causing him to give a sharp cry. “Now who’s being loud?” she teased.

“Stop that!”

Joyce rolled her eyes and gave a little whine. She had partaken in a few beers before he had arrived at the fair, and had partaken in a few more as he sat with her and waited for the crowds to clear. The boys were at the Wheelers’ home for the evening, so Joyce was looking forward to cutting loose a bit. Rather than wait at home for Jim to finish patrol, she decided to come along for the ride. It probably was frowned upon, but he _was_ the Chief of Police. “I want to go on a ride.”

“The place opens up again at 11 tomorrow.”

Joyce shook her head and pouted. “I don’t want to wait in line.” Her eyes fell upon the Ferris Wheel and a grin broke out on her face.

“No.”

She ignored him and began to walk towards the wheel. It loomed against the starry sky, bright red set against inky black. “Joyce!” 

“I can go alone if you want to be a fuddy-duddy.”

Jim walked after her. She wasn’t drunk very often, but when she was, she tended to be a bit adventurous. “Hold on. I don’t want you operating that thing yourself.” He stopped her in front of the gate. “Get in and sit still. I’ll get it started and come in with you.”

She turned to him and batted her eyes with great exaggeration. She then took two fistfuls of the front of his uniform, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him so hard it left him breathless. He steadied her with one hand, and cupped her face with the other, deepening their connection and moaning when her tongue slipped past his lips. He had to catch his breath when she pulled away, her amber-colored eyes glowing with promise. “Get on with it,” she cooed, pushing past the gate. 

Somehow, he managed to get the wheel to begin its rotation, and hop into the car with her. He looked around uneasily, thanking his lucky stars that the music had not started when the machine had. 

“Oh, who’s going to bust you? Flo?” Joyce asked when she took note of his nervous expression. 

He chuckled, realizing that she was right. Hawkins stretched beneath them, tiny and quiet as the wheel reached the top and descended, and the breeze was moving Joyce’s long auburn hair ever so enticingly. It was longer than it had ever been, thick and wavy and beautiful. She was smiling at him, something he was desperately glad to see more of.

“You are so bad, Joyce Byers. A real corrupting influence,” he teased, pushing the hair from her face and leaning over to kiss her slow and deep. His cock twitched when she moaned and placed a hand on his thigh, stroking up and down, while avoiding the very apparent evidence of his desire as it strained painfully against his khakis. “So, so bad.”

She moved her hand over his erection and squeezed, eliciting a hiss from him. “Mmm. You appear to enjoy being corrupted, officer.” 

Jim made sure to look around the grounds once more as they reached the top of the Ferris wheel. No apparent movement that would indicate that there was anyone else in the park but the two of them. Word must have gotten around when he walked in in full uniform. He moved her hand back to his thigh, loosened his belt, unbuttoned, unzipped, and pulled his aching cock out into the night air. “I really, really do.”

Joyce giggled and slid from the seat and onto her knees. Jim grabbed her shoulders and leaned back with a gasp when the car lurched forward despite her careful and slow maneuver. The last thing he wanted was for the two of them to tumble to their deaths. Especially when his dick was out. It would be an embarrassing front page story at the very least.

Joyce giggled, seemingly impervious to the danger. “It’s not fu- ahhh…” he lost all ability to scold when her mouth closed over his cock. He white-knuckled the edge of his seat, fingers digging into the vinyl as he tried still his body against her soft mouth and stroking tongue. “Goddamn,” he swore, threading the fingers of one hand through her hair. He tipped his head back and studied the stars as his breathing become more and more labored. She hummed against his cock, giggling when his hips began to move ever-so-carefully as she hit a slow and deep rhythm.

“So close,” he muttered as he balls constricted and the tingling grew more and more intense, she picked up the pace and kept it until he spent himself inside of her mouth with a hoarse cry. 

She looked up at him with a smug smile, wiping at the corner of her mouth with one forefinger, and bringing it into her mouth. “Well, that was fun.”

He chuckled breathlessly, the air felt cool against his burning face and softening cock. She helped him put his trousers to rights before carefully moving back into the seat beside him. She rested her head against his shoulder and giggled. 

“What?” he asked.

“How are we going to get off?”


	3. Night at the Museum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mysterious lights, fun times in the Camera Obscura.

 

“It’s nice that the Department is sending us on all sorts of interesting dates,” Joyce joked as she squinted to catch the details of a landscape painting. The museum was dimly lit and as quiet as the grave.

Jim stepped behind her and cleared his throat, giving her a little start. She turned to him with a frown. “It’s not a date, Joyce. It’s a mission.” He illuminated the painting with his flashlight and held it so Joyce could take a moment to study it without straining her eyes. “These all look alike.”

Joyce shook her head. “You are such a dummy. This is from the Hudson River School. Go look at the naked ladies, you uncultured swine.”

“Says the cashier.”

Joyce spun around and gave him a look so venomous that he immediately regretted the jab. “For your information, I took Will and Jonathan to the museum once a month when we lived in Indianapolis –”

“Okay, okay! Hey, I’m sorry, I’m an asshole.” He pulled her against him and pressed a kiss against her heated forehead. “It was a shitty thing to say, baby.” She relaxed against him.

“You’re a jerk.”

“I know.”

“Let’s keep looking around.”

“Okay. It’s a beautiful painting. Really.”

“Now you have to let me talk to you about _The Course of Empire_.”

“Is it just trees and mountains?”

“No, it’s got a lot of other things going for it.”

“Okay, good, but let’s keep looking around. The mysterious lights were reported somewhere on the East Wing.”

There search brought them to a corridor of oddities; an old musket, a crossbow and a variety of semi-ancient flatware were all dimly illuminated behind glass. Joyce looked to her left and gave a soft gasp that startled Jim. He pointed his gun in the direction. There was nothing but an odd brass contraption in front of a tall, curtained box. The contraption was projecting a thin beam of light towards the box “What the hell?”

“Jonathan would freak if he saw this,” Joyce whispered, moving towards the box.

“What is it?” Jim demanded. Joyce pulled the curtain open and stepped inside.

“It’s a Camera Obscura!”

“A Camera Ob _whatta_?” He followed her into the room and found her spinning around slowly, taking in her surroundings. His eyes settled on the walls and noticed that the doohickey outside was projecting an image of a snow covered forest on every wall in the room. “Neat. An old-timey projector.”

Joyce turned to him with a smile. “It’s like being back at home.”

“During my least favorite season. The fact that it’s freezing in here really adds to the illusion. You’ve got tree on your face.” He traced a finger over her cheekbone, following a pattern of branches. She rolled her eyes before he bent low to brush his lips against hers, chaste and brief.

“I don’t think we are going to see anything here tonight,” Joyce remarked as he pulled away.

“Maybe whatever is here knows that there are people lurking about. I think we should stake out here.” He sat on the floor, scooted so that his back was against the wall, and tugged at her sleeve. She knelt and he pulled her into his lap, her back flush against his chest. It really was cold. They could either keep moving to make heat, or rest against each other in the fancy picture room. His knees hurt and Joyce smelled nice, so Option B it was.

“I mean, it’s kind of a date, Hop,” Joyce sighed leaning back. She squealed when he placed his cold hands under her shirt and onto her abdomen.

“Shhh…this is a stakeout.”

“Did they really send you on a mission, or did you just want to recreate our time in the AV room back in High School?”

His hands drifted up to her cotton covered breasts and he squeezed gently. “Your boobs weren’t nearly as nice as they are now.” One hand slipped underneath her bra, finding soft warmth and a generous handful. His kissed the side of her neck.

“I guess you can thank the boys for that,” she sighed, tilting her head back as busy fingers worked her nipple into a hard point. His mouth found her lips once more, and she moaned as his tongue slid against hers as they enjoyed each others’ company in a slow, sensuous fashion. Her hips move from side to side, rubbing gently against his now persistent erection.

“I think I’ll spare them the embarrassment of that conversation and just enjoy you in private.”

She replied with something intelligible as his free hand drifted underneath the waistband of her jeans, under her panties, and parted her slick center. She shifted so his fingers could slip in further. “What if–”

“I guess you’ll just have to be extra quiet,” he whispered against her ear before nipping at her lobe and then the side of her neck. She whimpered and gasped as his drenched forefinger began to rub circles around her clit. “You’d like getting caught, wouldn’t you? Bad, bad Joyce.”

“Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. His fingers worked their magic until she grew frustrated with the angle and slapped his hand away. He feigned confusion when she turned about and pulled his lips against hers, devouring his mouth in a desperate kiss, straddling his lap. “Touch me again,” she growled against his ear.

“Yes ma’am.” His fingers slipped inside once more, probing deeper this time. His thumb flicked and teased at her engorged bud as two fingers pumped inside of her. She rode his fingers, bucking and moaning in his lap. His mouth covered hers when her delicious sounds became too loud for discretion. He’d have her later, when they were safe in their hotel room (where the condoms were), but for now he was enjoying fingering her into oblivion in the winter room. It was not lost on him that hundreds of people must have milled about in the little room day after day, and would continue to do so long after Joyce Byers achieved climax on his lap on the floor. It was naughty, it was…

She shuddered and came apart with her teeth digging into his shoulder and one hand threaded through his hair. He held her as she came down, her tiny body vibrating with pleasure. He felt like one smug bastard when he noticed the sparkle in her eyes and the color in her cheeks.

“Cool room,” he remarked as she caught her breath.

“Shut up.”


	4. The Joy of Cooking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up in the kitchen.

Jim Hopper felt his heart leap to his throat. The entire universe seemed to tilt on its axis as he surveyed the scene before him. “Oh my god! Joyce, no!” He stepped forward towards the chaos, one hand outstretched, the other covering his mouth.

“What?” Joyce inquired, a wrinkle in her nose and a perplexed look in her eyes. She looking over her shoulder, standing near the sink, ready to pour flour into a liquid measuring cup.

“Just put the flour and the cup onto the counter,” he instructed slowly, in a voice reserved for talking perps out of stupid decisions. Joyce scoffed, rolled her eyes, but did as she was told. “Where’s the fire?” Her tone was sarcastic.

“You were about to put a dry ingredient into a liquid measuring cup. Baby, you know that’s wrong, right?”

Another eye roll. She clapped her hands together, causing a cloud of flour and shrugged. “Does it really matter?”

Jim nodded emphatically. “Yes it does! How are you going to get an accurate measurement of ingredients with that? You have to pack the flour down in order to get it to the line we need. What’s more, you were about to pour it out over the sink; you are supposed to having a liquid measuring cup on the counter, so you can squat to see that you’ve poured just the right amount.”

Joyce laughed, stepped forward, stood on her tiptoes, and gave him a chaste kiss on the mouth. “So serious,” she teased.

He placed his hands on her flour-covered shoulders and kissed her forehead. “You asked for help with Will’s birthday cake. If you want the expertise that hours and hours of watching Julia Child brings, you are going to have to measure with the proper tools.”

He didn’t want to burden her with the fact that those hours and hours of cooking show binging had come about when Sarah had first gotten sick, and Diane had retreated into a deep depression. It had been his distraction from the reality of the situation, and his way of showing his wife that he loved her and supported her. Food meant love, and he had gotten extremely talented in showing that love, even though Diane had not been receptive to it. Not that he blamed her. After Sarah’s death and his divorce, _The Mastery of French Cooking_ had been replaced with the mastery of high-functioning alcoholism. For all Joyce knew, cooking and baking was just another one of his many quirks.

“I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again,” Joyce promised with a little smirk. Apart from showing him that he could love again, she made him want to cook again, and that was a miraculous thing.

Fifteen minutes later, the cake was in the oven, and the Byers’ kitchen looked like a chocolate bomb had gone off in it. Joyce was sitting in the counter, dipping her forefinger into the mixing bowl, and popping it into her mouth with a rapturous hum and a delighted wiggle in her shoulders. She was too adorable to ignore.

There was a smudge of chocolate at the corner of her mouth, and Jim took it upon himself to step in between her legs, lean forward, and kiss it away. He heard the bowl being set down on the counter and felt Joyce’s arms come to rest around his shoulders as she deepened the kiss. He groaned as her tongue slid against his, revelling in the bittersweet taste of chocolate that lingered on her lips. He pulled away suddenly, resting her hands lightly on her waist, and studying her face for signs that she wanted things to go the way he thought she wanted them to go. Her amber-colored eyes were drowsy with desire, and her cupid’s bow lips were curled into an inviting smile.

“The boys won’t be home for hours.” Her voice was a sultry whisper, taking one of his large hands and placing it on one of her breasts. He could feel her heart beating through the fabric of her thin t-shirt, and also he could also feel that she was not wearing a bra, which made sense because it was her day off and if the boys were not around neither were bras. Her squeezed gently, and circled his thumb over her nipple. Desire coursed through his body like a shot and caused his jeans to feel unreasonably tight.

“Hours you say?” He rested his other hand on one of her thighs. She was wearing shorts and her skin was smooth to the touch. He loved her legs. They were toned and strong from hours upon hours of being on her feet at the general store, and impossibly long for someone so petite. His hand traveled upwards until his fingers brushed the elastic of her panties, his forefinger tracing the impossibly soft expanse of skin at the crease of her thigh. She shivered and whimpered, cupping a hand against his cheek and bringing his lips back to hers, licking into his mouth and biting his lower lip with renewed enthusiasm.

Her panties were soaked, he discovered as his exploring fingers moved closer to the center of her desire. His other hand found its way under her shirt, teasing at one erect nipple as he ravaged her mouth. He was painfully hard, and became over moreso when she broke away to pull her shirt over her head and throw it to one side. There was chocolate smeared at her collarbone, and rather than question how it got there, he set to the task of removing it with his tongue and lips as his hands worked to remove her shorts and panties. Her hips lifted to accommodate the maneuver. “Get the condom out of your wallet,” she bossed as he pressed two fingers into her soaked core, his thumb rotating around her clit. She moaned low, and tilted her head back. God, she was magnificent.

“Not just yet,” he replied, using his free hand to scoop up chocolate batter from the nearby bowl with his thumb and middle finger. He drew a circle of chocolate around the nipple of her right breast and bent his head low to suckle and lick at the mark. His teeth nipped lightly at taut target, drawing a delicious sounds from low in her throat. As he kissed and worshiped at her breast, and teased at center, his fingers drew more chocolate from the bowl. He knelt and ceased the torture of his fingers to add the mixture to the area surrounding the crux of her desire, and pull her hips forward, bringing her knees to rest over his shoulders.

“Jim…”

“Shh…” he whispered leaning forward and tasting the musk and sweetness of her drenched center. She gasped and he felt her fingers curl into his hair and her hips rock slowly as he licked and consumed. Once again, he pushed two fingers into her pussy, and began to pump in and out, picking up pace as her cries became desperate and uninhibited and the fingers in his hair became less of a gentle stroking massage, and more of a tug as they clenched and unclenched. She cried his name like a mantra as her natural sweetness flooded his mouth and the tension in her thighs relaxed and became a gentle tremble.

To his surprise, she kissed her essence from his cheeks and lips with eagerness as she came down from her high, a fact that made his cock feel as though it was about the burst through the zipper of his jeans. He looked over at the timer and then to her. She giggled and kissed him again. “Can you make it quick?” she inquired, raising one beautiful, dark eyebrow.

“Fuck no. Never have, never will. We’re just going to have to wait.”


	5. The Worst Movie of the Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Joyce and an empty movie theater.

“You don’t have to be so sly, there’s no one here,” Jim gasped as Joyce palmed his erection through his jeans. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and they were at a matinee of what Jim was assured was “The Worst Movie of the Year”, which was the basis of the appeal. The theater was empty, and he had paid the one usher twenty bucks to take a hike for two hours. He wasn’t terribly worried about the projectionist.

It had been a week since Joyce had shyly expressed her wish to be a little more adventurous with Jim. She didn’t have any complaints about the quality of the sex, of this she had assured him. She was just experiencing a tinge of nostalgia for their younger days, when the two of them had been less discerning over where they would express their need for one another. Not being one to disappoint, Jim made the necessary arrangements.

So far, she only seemed bold enough to steal a few steamy kisses and grope over his jeans, with a tub of popcorn as a shield. He knew she wasn’t watching the movie. He gently wrapped his hand over her wrist and stilled her tentative movements. With his other hand, he unbuttoned, unzipped, and freed his cock. It stood at half-mast, but he had a feeling that would change shortly. “Come here,” he beckoned, setting the popcorn onto the ground. He could practically feel her blushing from the seat over- he tugged at her wrist. “Come sit on my lap.”

He looked over his shoulder and saw her caught her studying his face. Her eyes were dark, and she was gnawing on her plump bottom lip with a little half-smile quirking one corner of her mouth. “No one’s here?”

“It’s just me and you, baby. I can’t guarantee a surprise appearance, though.” Her eyes widened at the suggestion, as did her smile, and his cock twitched at the thought of her being turned on by the prospect. “Now, crawl into my lap and hoist up that pretty little skirt.”

Moments later, her knees were resting at his sides, her mouth was devouring his, and his cock was pressed against the cotton barrier of her panties as she writhed and rubbed against him. In the dark, the pleats of her short skirt and the soft polyester of her sweater sent him back to a time when he was a big-shot running back and she was the shy little cheerleader picked solely for her diminutive size. Top-of-the-pyramid material, but not quite Head Cheerleader. The ache in his back and knees told him pulled him out of that little fantasy and he remembered that they were now just Joyce and Jim. Damaged goods, yet so good together, and quite a bit more adept at the tasks they had once fumbled at in the backseats of cars and beneath the bleachers.

Suddenly, one dainty, fine-boned hand was grasping his cock while the other worked to push aside the crotch of her panties. She lifted her hips and lowered herself on top of him with an airy sigh. He would never, ever tire of the feel of her; warm, wet and inviting. He grasped a hip with one hand, and shoved the material of her sweater and bra up and away from a full, soft breast with the other. He suckled and teased at her nipple as she rode in him, lifting her hips and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. She almost never let him do this without a condom, and he knew he had to be very, very good about giving her a heads up about his limits, or she’d never let him do it again. A little bit of trust…

The hand at her hip moved down to finger her clit, and she moaned his name before picking up pace. He urged her on with a string of sentimental nonsense muttered next to her ear, telling her all of the things she’d never let him say on an ordinary day when she wasn’t riding him into oblivion. As her moans grew louder he began to feel a tinge of paranoia, so he smothered her cries with his mouth and tongue. She bit his lower lip hard as her vaginal walls clenched around his cock and he felt a wet warmth pooling onto his thighs. He wouldn’t be far behind.

“Get up, get up, get up,” he urged as the tell-tale tingle became overwhelming. She placed her hands on the back of his seat and lifted herself off of his cock, balancing her weight on her knees. He came hard, grunting with his face pressed against her bare abdomen. He kissed it as he caught his breath, and brought his hands to the small of her back gently easing her back onto his lap. They kissed, deep and leisurely, for a few moments as they both recovered.

“Well.” Joyce giggled against his neck as she settled into his arms.

“Well.”

“I’m not cleaning up the back of that seat, and I don’t think you should make that poor usher do it either.”

“Happy anniversary to you too, sweetheart.”


	6. Chapter 6

  1. “Come over here and make me, then.”
  2. “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”



“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?” Jim Hopper inquired, desperately hoping that the reasons were sexy ones. 

Joyce Byers, naked as the day she was born, stretched her arms over her head in a languid motion as she lay widthwise across his king-sized bed. The beams of moonlight filtering through the curtains gave her fair skin an ethereal glow, and her long legs were crossed at the knees as she smiled serenely up at him. Her wavy auburn hair was getting so long, he mused as he admired the way it spread across his pale-blue comforter. 

“Do I need a reason?” she asked in a low, teasing tone, biting her lower lip as she waited for a response - the blood rushed from his brain and settled uncomfortably in his cock at the sight.

“Uh- fuck - Joyce, it’s cold in here,” his eyes were currently locked on the evidence of the room temperature. “You should really cover up before you catch pneumonia.”

She giggled softly. Joyce never giggled. “Come over and make me, then.”

_ This is wrong, doesn’t she hate you right now?  _ He tried to quell the warning inner-voice as he hastily shed his uniform, tripping over his trousers in his haste to make it to the bed. 

_ Wake up now. _

Jim’s eyes snapped open and he groaned in frustration. He wasn’t about to crawl into his own bed - he was lying on his back in a strange one with scratchy blankets and a loud A/C unit whirring and rattling in a window that faced an almost empty parking lot. He was in a motel. 

To his credit, his dream woman  _ was  _ lying next to him in said strange bed. She was clothed, clad in an oversized t-shirt and pajama shorts, her russet locks piled on top of her head in a messy bun as she snored softly. Also she hated him. 

He didn’t blame her, really. He  _ had  _ sold his soul and a small child to Brenner and his goons. As a direct consequence, she was being more or less strong-armed into going along with him on this stupid out-of-town, undercover clean-up mission as his wife. Something about her being better at talking rather than punching. The reasons were unclear - mostly Jim suspected that it had more to do with the lab fucking with him rather than her innate conversational skills. 

Tense situation or no, he was harder than a fucking diamond, and was likely to remain that way unless he did something about it. Jim didn’t want to risk her waking up with his erection pressing into her back, so he rose from the bed and made his way to the armchair across the room. 

* * *

 

Joyce opened her bleary eyes when her body registered the curious absence of warmth and weight. She frowned as she reached her arm across the bed and placed the palm of her hand on the pillow that Jim’s head had been resting against earlier in the night. She turned her head towards the bathroom. There was no light under the door, no evidence that the little room was occupied. 

Her blood froze at the sharp intake of breath from the other side of the room. She shifted as quietly as she could, mindful of the squeaky frame of the bed, turning her attention towards the noise. 

Jim was slumped in the armchair by the window with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. His big, strong body was softly illuminated by the artificial light from the hotel sign in the parking lot and one large hand was closed over his cock as he worked it with slow, steady strokes.

Joyce squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to fall back asleep. It wouldn’t be right, watching him in this state of arousal. It wouldn’t…

Why were her eyes open again? Hadn’t she just closed them a moment ago? Her eyes were drawn to his motions, to the sight of his hard, exposed length. She felt the air leave her lungs, and the ice in her veins turned to fire in an instant. 

“Joyce…” she heard him moan. Her hand flew to her mouth to suppress a soft gasp. Not only was he pleasuring himself in the room she was presumably sleeping in, he was thinking of her! Joyce didn’t know whether to be outraged or aroused, but the pleasant heat between her legs told her it was the latter. She reached her hand down, under the waist of her shorts. She was wet - drenched really. 

Throwing caution into the wind, she closed her eyes and teased at her center with hesitant fingers. She was unable to quell her sharp whimper when she brushed her clitoris and her eyes flew open again when she heard Jim gasp. His eyes were fixed on hers, his expression a mix of arousal and astonishment. 

“Well,” he mumbled, turning away from her and hastily tucking himself back into his shorts.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Joyce heard herself speak without thinking.


	7. Phone Calls

“Uh-huh, sure I’ll wait,” Jim Hopper mumbled into the phone. He cringed when a stripped down, somehow more morose, version of the theme from ‘Love Story’ began to play on the other end. He looked up from the phone as the front door opened and Joyce walked in with several shopping bags. “Those aren’t groceries,” he teased.

“No, they’re not. This is the last time I do a woman’s day with Karen; she’s got a real problem,” Joyce sighed, throwing her bags onto the couch and collapsing near the brightly colored heap.

“Shopping addiction?”

Joyce shook her head as she massaged her temples. “No - but probably - no, her problem is treating me like a paper doll.”

Jim chuckled at leaned back in the ugly, overstuffed armchair that had made the cut when he moved into the Byers’ household. “What’s in the bags?”

Joyce lowered her hands and raised an eyebrow. “Just some underthings and a new dress.”

“Oh? Can I get a fashion show?”

Joyce narrowed her eyes when she spotted the phone in his hands. “Who are you talking to?”

He grinned and held up the receiver so she could hear the hold music. 

“So, sex phone operator?” she inquired, straightening her back, and resting her elbows on her knees.

“Why? Are you jealous?” Her features darkened and he deflected the look with a hearty chuckle. “No, Joyce. I’m talking to the cable company.”

“Hop! I told you we were fine with what we had; I don’t want one of those ugly dishes in my backyard.”

“But the fights.”

“Can’t you watch them at a bar or something?”

Jim frowned and shook his head. “Not two months into my sobriety… plus we’ll get movie channels and MTV. The boys will be happy.”

Joyce groaned. “That’s dirty. You know I like to treat the boys when I can.”

He nodded emphatically. “Exactly! Now with my income, you actually can. Will and his buddies can pretend the dish is a set piece when they’re playing Star Trek!”

“Star Wars, and they’re not six years old - they like to hole themselves up in a basement when they play god-knows-what.”

“That sounds made up. So… ?”

“Well, I guess since you’re already on hold you might as well go through with it.”

Jim blew her a kiss and gave a cheeky wink. “You’re my favorite old lady. Now let’s see what Karen is dressing you in nowadays.”

Another groan as Joyce threw her head back and slumped against the couch. “Seriously?”

“Make me forget this terrible song.”

She rolled her eyes, picked up her bags, and retreated down the hall. 

“You’re an absolute angel, Joycie!” Jim shouted after her. She responded with an decidedly unangelic snort that he could hear from behind the closed bedroom door.

By the time Jim heard the sound of the door opening once again, the operator had returned to the line, ready to take down information for dish installation. Joyce stepped into view, not wearing a dress, but a wine-colored, lacy bra and panties set. The panties were cut high, and the bra was a push-up, giving Jim an enticing view of her ample cleavage. He swallowed hard, and the temperature in the room rose considerably (as did a very prominent part of his anatomy). His eyes began to itch and he realized that he had not blinked for a full minute. 

“The address? Let me think…” With all of the blood leaving his brain, Jim found that he could not recall his own address. He tore his eyes away from Joyce so that he could focus on the small pile of mail on a nearby side-table. He gave a violent start when he felt her small, cool hand on the back of his neck. The hairs on his arms stood on end when she bent low to whisper the address into his ear, using a decidedly bedroom-like tone. Her breasts were brushing gently against his shoulder.

“Baby, I’m on the phone,” he whispered helplessly. “No, it’s not a bad time,” he assured the now-confused operator. “Here’s the address…” He managed to stumble through his recitation, eyes trained on Joyce as she knelt between his legs. Her amber eyes were flashing with mischief and she was giving him one of her sensual half-smiles.

“Bad,” he mouthed, even though he lifted his hips to allow her to work the button and fly of his jeans, even though every muscle in his body was taut with anticipation.  


End file.
